


you have a problem

by castielanderson



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Borderline Personality Disorder, Depression, M/M, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, bpd!Connor, connor uses sex to cope surprise surprise, mentions of statutory rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-24 00:49:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8349700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielanderson/pseuds/castielanderson
Summary: An exploration of Connor this season, examining the evidence for him having Borderline Personality Disorder.  Somewhat of a reaction fic.





	

**Author's Note:**

> my son has bpd and i love hem. also yes i totally referenced another one of my fics in this one cool bye

It’s hard to believe that just a few months ago, Michaela was still a virgin.  She used to be so terrified of opening her legs; now the only thing keeping her from kicking Asher’s dumb white ass to the curb is the fact that he is undeniably good at sex.  He may act like a hotshot, but fuck, he knows how to take care of girl when it really matters.  Despite herself, a smile plays at her lips as she lets herself into the apartment.

 

The lights are out, and Michaela flicks on the lamp right inside the door.  The only sound she can make out is the hum of the refrigerator.  Connor’s oddly quiet given the fact that he’s clearly not asleep on the couch in front of her.  She drops her coat on the rack and pads her way to her bedroom.  It’s just the way she left it.

 

“Connor?” she calls.  His shoes were at the door.

 

She picks up the pace and peaks her head in the kitchen.  He’s there, hunched over his knees on the floor, one half-full bottle next to his ankle, and five more empty ones scattered around him, three on the floor, and two more on the counter.  His face is blotchy and his eyes glazed over.

 

Michaela moves a couple bottles over with her foot before she lowers herself to the ground next to her broken best friend.

 

“Connor,” she says again, gentle.

 

He looks up at her, eyes not quite focused.

 

“What’s wrong?” she asks.  It could really be anything at this point.  His life is kind of falling apart in general.  “You know you can tell me anything.”

 

He chokes on a deep breath and takes a long drink from the bottle at his ankle.  He waits for the oncoming belch before he hiccups and says, “You really think I was raped?”

 

Michaela swallows hard.  “How old was that counselor, Connor?”

 

A sick smile splits his face apart.  “Twenty.”

 

Michaela winces.  Something burns in her throat.  “He had no business being with a fourteen-year-old.  He knew what he was doing.  You didn’t.”

 

Connor drains the bottle.  He takes the neck between his fingers and twists it around, over and over.  Some sort of wheezy noise comes through his mouth, and Michaela can’t tell if he’s laughing or crying, but he punctuates it with, “I fucking hate myself.”

 

As gently as she can, Michaela pries the bottle from Connor’s fingers.  He doesn’t put up much of a fight, which might be because he’s so far gone right now.  He stares at the same spot on the wall as Michaela collects the bottles and puts them in the recycling.

 

“Come on, Connor,” she says, bending down to rub his back.  She lays a hand on his upper arm.  “Let’s go to bed.  You can sleep with me in my bed if you want.”

 

He doesn’t say anything, but lets himself be hauled up and dragged to her bedroom.  She tucks him into Asher’s side of the bed and then crawls in slowly to her side.  He’s asleep within minutes, but she doesn’t fall asleep for hours.

 

.

 

The next day, Connor doesn’t say anything about the night before.  Michaela doesn’t push it.

 

After work, he doesn’t go with her.  Tells her he’s going to go for a walk.  When he finally comes home, he comes with another six-pack.  Michaela checks on him periodically, but doesn’t say anything.  When he’s ready, he comes to bed and cries himself to sleep.  Without a word, Michaela rubs his back until the hiccups have stopped he’s breathing peacefully.

 

.

 

Simon Drake is the absolute worst.

 

He might be better if he was remotely attractive, but he doesn’t even have that going for him.  He’s a boring, snot-nosed wannabe and he is currently breathing down Oliver’s neck as Connor watches from across the room, decidedly ignoring his lunch.

 

Oliver’s probably organizing files or testing some new mandatory software or maybe even just answering e-mails.  Whatever it is, Connor _ knows _ it’s mundane because that’s what Annalise has him doing.  Still, Simon lingers behind him, watching and asking questions like Oliver is two seconds away from finding the cure for cancer.  It’s disgusting.

 

“I really appreciate scholarly men,” Simon drawls, and Connor literally wants to throw up on the spot.

 

Oliver just blushes and ignores the opportunity for eye contact.

 

“It doesn’t help that your ass is ridiculously perky.”

 

Connor gags.  Oliver stutters.

 

“I know you probably have a ton of other guys asking for time, but let me remind you that I’m free this Friday night and would absolutely enjoy your company.”

 

Connor takes a long drink from the soda in front of him, wishing it was beer.

 

“Oh, I - I - “ 

 

Simon bends over, sticking his ass out and bracing himself by pressing his forearms against the tabletop.  “You don’t have to give me an answer now, Oliver.  You have my number.”  He spares a look at Connor and smirks.

 

Connor retaliates by crushing his soda in his hand.  The aluminum tears and knicks the inside of his palm.  He hisses in pain and drops the crumpled can.  As he licks the blood from his wound, an odd sense of serenity passes through him, momentarily canceling out his anger.  He focuses on the physical pain and keeps his eyes away from Simon.

 

.

 

Michaela clicks her tongue as she wraps Connor’s hand in gauze.  He may have underestimated the damage done, as the little flap of skin on his palm has been slowly bleeding all day.  He threw a bandaid on it after an hour, but Michaela saw the cut sticking out from underneath and immediately scolded him for not cleaning and prepping it against bacteria.

 

“How have you survived thus far on your own?” she mutters.

 

Connor shrugs. 

 

She finishes pressing down the medical tape and examines what she’s done.  With a satisfied nod, she packs up her first-aid kit.

 

“Want some whiskey for the pain?” she asks with a twisted smile.

 

Connor sighs.  “Yes, please.”

 

She comes back into the living room with a bottle and two glasses.  Connor takes his with grace and knocks back a shot right away.  Michaela pours him another, and he nurses it.

 

With her own glass in hand, Michaela falls down onto the couch next to him.  She takes a drink, smacks her lips, and winces at the taste.  “Seriously, Connor.  You are so bad at taking care of yourself.”

 

He snorts.  “I know.”

 

“Poor Oliver,” Michaela mutters.  “If you guys had lasted much longer, I’m sure he would’ve started turning grey.”

 

Connor pouts and rests his head against Michaela’s shoulder.  “You’re mean.”

 

Michaela settles against him.  “It’s only ‘cause I love you.”

 

“Remember when I got the flu and Asher had to drag my ass home?”

 

“I’m never going to forget.  Asher was so panicked I thought he was going to explode.  It probably would have been easier if I had just given you a ride, but Asher was sweating like a pig and the rest of us got so much joy from watching him freak out.”

 

“Michaela, he literally stayed in my armchair for like six hours because he was too awkward to move.”

 

Michaela snickers.  “I don’t know how he’s surviving being an RA.  His blood pressure must spike every time someone knocks on his door.” She sets her empty glass on the coffee table and sinks farther into the couch.  “But, like honestly, Connor.  Why do you suck?”

 

“Stoooop,” he whines.  “It doesn’t matter as long as I can mooch off suckers like you.”

 

“I’m gonna tell Oliver you said that.”

 

“Shut up.  You put up with it too, loser.”  He finishes his own drink, and Michaela tops it off.  “Aiden was the only one who threw my incompetent, sad ass under the bus.

 

Michaela stiffens, and it does not go unnoticed.  

 

“Sorry,” Connor mumbles.  “You probably don’t want to hear about our relationship.”

 

“Actually,” Michaela breathes, wrapping her arm around Connor.  “I’m extremely curious.”

 

Connor cranes his head back to look up at her.  “Really?”

 

Michaela shrugs.  “Look, we both hate him.  You might as well indulge me.”

 

Connor sighs.  “There isn’t much to say except he was a giant dick.”

 

“Indulge me, Connor.”

 

“Fiiiine,” Connor huffs.  “Okay, like - we started out as fuck buddies.  He said he was curious and I was desperate for some kind of relationship so I said yes.  But then we started hanging out all the time, and we went on a couple dates, and I asked him to be my boyfriend, and he was kind of hesitant, but ultimately agreed.  Except, I was even more fucked up back then.  I was super clingy and jealous and Aiden hated it.  So I tried to be good.  I tried to relax, and just asked him to remind me that I was his and nobody else was.  Spoiler alert: I wasn’t as confident as I am now.  I was kind of chubby in boarding school and my hair was really bad.”  Michaela nearly spills the glass she’s re-filling as she laughs. “Anyway, it never got much easier for me, and Aiden got sick of me pretty fast, and told me he didn’t want to be together anymore.  I - I kind of panicked, because I actually really, really liked him.  I knew he didn’t feel as strongly about me as I felt about him, but that was a punch to the gut.  I - uh - I may or may not have threatened to hurt myself in return, but Aiden had none of that.  He reported me to the school counselor, called me a manipulative asshole, and stopped talking to me for the next six months.”  Connor takes a long, hearty drink, but his mouth remains dry.  The two of them sit in silence for a long moment.

 

Michaela asks quietly, “Did you - did you actually - ?”

 

“What?” Connor asks.

 

“Hurt yourself?”

 

“Oh,” Connor says.  “Um - no.  I got interrogated by the counselor before anything could happen.”

 

Michaela doesn’t say anything, and Connor bites the inside of his lips.  It never really seemed that bad until he heard himself say it out loud.  So much happened in that short span of time, it’s hard to remember what he was feeling when it happened.  It’s hard to say what he might have done if he hadn’t been forced to go to those counselling sessions.

 

“Yeah,” Michaela breaks the silence.  “He was always kind of an ass when I got emotional - told me I was too sensitive and that I always overreacted.  Fuck him, honestly.”

 

Connor half-smiles, unsure, to himself.  “Yeah.  Fuck him.”

 

.

 

So, the college-age threesome was a nice deviation from the norm, but Connor is much more comfortable on his way to meet that silver fox from Michaela’s apartment complex.  He’s promised to cook Connor an extravagant dinner and then bend him over the kitchen island - which sounds like a perfectly good night.

 

Dinner is delicious, but nothing compares to the feeling he gets when Sean? - Sam?  No, Shawn - grabs his waist and sucks down his neck.  Connor struggles to unbutton his shirt, paving the way for Shawn to keep nibbling down his chest and stomach.  Halfway down, Shawn grabs his wrists and pushes him a few more steps until they slam against the wall.  He keeps Connor’s wrists in his grip, making him absolutely helpless.  Connor groans.

 

“You like that?” Shawn hisses against his ear.

 

Connor squirms.  “Fuck.”

 

“Watch your mouth, son.”

 

Shawn unbuttons the rest of Connor’s shirt and throws it to the ground.  He licks down Connor’s abdomen as his hands unbuckle Connor’s belt.  He shoves Connor’s pants down in one quick motion and proceeds to grab Connor’s cock out of his underwear.

 

“Need a little more teasing, babe?”

 

The comment sneaks in through Connor’s bliss, and he glances down at Shawn, whose hand is wrapped around Connor’s not even half-hard dick.  

 

“Uh - yeah.  Yes.  Please.”

 

Shawn stands up, out of his squat and begins shrugging out of his sweater.  He undoes his own shirt quickly and slips out of his pants and underwear in three seconds flat.  His own dick is large and swollen against his stomach, his head red and leaking.

 

“Come here, you slut.”

 

He grabs Connor’s waist and hoists him upward.  He wraps Connor’s legs around his own waist and slams him into the wall.  Pulling at Connor’s hair, he goes back to sucking Connor’s neck.  Connor moans, loud.  This is what he lives for, but his dick is not listening to his brain.  Connor closes his eyes, willing his body to listen harder to Shawn.  The top of Shawn’s cock is pressed against Connor’s balls, and fuck, he wants this.  He wants Shawn to spread him open and fuck him hard, but he is still. Fucking. Limp. 

 

After twenty more minutes of this, Shawn slows down.

 

“What’s going on, Connor?”

 

Connor stumbles as Shawn lets him down and onto the floor.  “I don’t - I don’t know,” he panics.  “This is amazing.  You’re amazing.  I just - it’s like I’ve lost the connection from my brain to my dick.”

 

Shawn laughs.  “It happens.  If you wouldn’t mind, though, - would you suck me off?”

 

“Of - of course,” Connor mutters, getting to his knees.  He takes Shawn’s cock into his mouth in finishes him within in five minutes.  

 

Shawn promises it’s okay, but Connor leaves feeling like shit.  By the time he makes it down to Michaela’s door, all he wants is to down a bottle of Vodka and crush another soda can in his fist.

 

.

 

There’s a chip at the bottom of her yellow coffee mug, and Michaela picks at it for a second before she drinks the last dregs of her coffee.  After setting it in the sink, she glances at her watch, which tells her she has twenty minutes to get to Annalise’s class.  Twenty minutes, and Connor isn’t even awake.  A heavy sigh whistles through Michaela’s lips.

 

She’s prepared to shake Connor silly, but when she steps out into the living room, his eyes meet hers.

 

“You’re awake?”

He nods.

 

“What are you doing?  We have to leave now or we’ll be late.”

 

Connor tucks his head back into the pillow.  “Not going.”

 

Michaela blinks several times.  “What do you mean you’re not going?  It’s  _ Annalise _ .  We  _ have _ to be there.”

 

“Not going,” Connor repeats.

 

Michaela’s chin sinks into her neck.  “Are - are you sick?” she splutters.

 

“I don’t know,” Connor mumbles.  “But I’m not going to class.”

 

“O - okay,” Michaela says.  She turns around and grabs her bag from the kitchen.  She walks slowly to the front door, watching Connor as she goes.  He doesn’t acknowledge her; just stares ahead, unblinking.  She opens her mouth, but his name doesn’t leave her lips.

 

Biting down on the inside of her lips, Michaela treads through the doorway.

 

.

 

Nobody got the chance to ask her anything when she came rushing into class thirty seconds late, but when Connor doesn’t show up to work, it’s hard to ignore.

 

“Where’s Connor?”  Everybody looks around until their eyes settle on Michaela.  Bonnie raises her eyebrows.  “Michaela?”

 

She takes a slow, deep breath and exhales, “I don’t know.  He - he wouldn’t get out of bed this morning.”  Her eyes meet Asher’s, and she swallows hard.

 

Bonnie purses her lips and exhales a sharp noise.  “He should call in if he’s sick.”

 

Wes clears his throat, and Michaela knows what he’s thinking.  Connor’s not sick.  At least, not physically.  Only when Bonnie leaves do they acknowledge this.  Asher’s at her side in an instant, leaning in so he can talk as quietly as possible.

 

“He’s pretty bad, huh?”

 

Michaela nods.  

 

Asher wraps an arm around her shoulder, pulls her toward him and kisses the top of her head.  She stiffens, but after a moment, relaxes.

 

“We’re here for him.  He knows that.”

 

Michaela turns her head, looking at him.  “Does he?”

 

“I’ll talk to him,” Asher promises.

 

“Asher - ,” Michaela starts, but the look on his face stops her.  Shit.  She forgot.  His dad - well, they never did prove it was murder.

 

Asher leaves the room with a bundle of papers for Annalise.  She watches him go, very aware of the tightness in her throat.  Not a moment later, Oliver shuffles up to her, and the worry in his eyes is startling.

 

“Is he - ?”

 

Michaela shakes her head.  “I don’t know, Oliver.  He doesn’t talk to me enough.”

 

Oliver blinks fast, looking around his shoulder.  “Did he ever tell you how his drug problem started?”

 

Michaela shakes her head, almost annoyed.  It’s a pity Oliver still believes that.

 

“He never told me either,” he mutters.  “But, you know - he’s had panic attacks in front of me.  And he - he isn’t generally a happy person.”

 

“Oliver,” Michaela says, softer than she anticipated.  “I don’t know anymore about his mental health than you do.  The only thing I can say right now is yeah - this looks like some kind of depression.  I don’t know if it’s clinical or just a funk because of the two of you breaking up.  I’m just going to do what I can, and that’s all you should do too.”

 

Oliver nods a little too eagerly.  “He - he is on something for anxiety, or - or is supposed to be.  He didn’t take it regularly.”

 

“Prozac,” Michaela offers.  “He keeps the bottle underneath the coffee table.”

 

Oliver chews on his lip.  “Will you just - will you keep me updated?  Let me know if he gets worse?”

 

“Of course, Oliver,” Michaela whispers, and pulls him in for a hug.

 

.

 

Michaela’s breathless as she turns the doorknob.  It’s unlocked, and she wonders if Connor is still in the same spot, if he really didn’t leave the apartment all day.  A gentle nudge and the door swings open without a sound.  Connor isn’t anywhere in sight, but Michaela can hear his voice.  She shuts the front door lethargically before following the sound.

 

He’s in the bathroom, and Michaela leans up against the doorframe.

 

“  - Anyway, I just - I wanted to say hi, check in on the kids.  I miss them.”  He splutters through a breath.  “Gemma, I - there’s a reason I’m calling, and I just - wow, I’m nervous to say it.  Things - things have been pretty rough, Gems, and I - I haven’t felt like this in a long time.  Maybe not ever, actually, I - I don’t know.  Um - Oliver broke up with me.  He didn’t think our relationship was healthy, even though I - whatever.  It was his decision.  And then - well, Annalise took on this case.  This - this kid was - well, he was in a relationship with one of his teachers, and he - he was in high school.  Just a kid.  And I - I’ve been thinking a lot about what sex does for me, and - and when I lost my virginity, I - Gems, I don’t really know what to do anymore.  I don’t want to be just a slut.  I don’t - I’m so tired, Gemma.  I don’t think I’ve ever felt this exhausted.  And I - I can’t sleep, but I don’t want to be awake, because I keep having these awful thoughts, and I’m - I’m scared, Gemma.  I’m scared I’m gonna do something I regret.”

 

Michaela’s eyes are burning, her cheeks wet.  She bites down on her knuckles to keep from making a noise.

 

“Fuck.”

 

Connor huffs, and Michaela hears him move around.  After a moment of silence, he takes a deep breath.

 

“Hi, Gemma.  I - uh - I’m - well, I just left you a message, and honestly, I’m a little drunk, so you should probably just delete it.  I’m - I’m sorry I’ve been MIA lately.  Second year of law school is crazy.  Say - say hi to the kids for me, okay?  Love you.”  

 

A heavy sigh, and then the sound of the doorknob.  Michaela jumps back, dashes into her room.  Through the crack between her door and the frame, she watches Connor hobble back to the living room, wiping at his nose with his sleeve.  He sniffles and collapses into the couch.  Once he’s settled, Michaela bends at the knees and lowers herself to the floor.

 

.

 

Michaela wakes up to the smell of bacon.  Unbalanced and groggy, she pads out of her room.  In the kitchen, Connor is cooking a full breakfast.  He smiles when he sees her, but it doesn’t reach as far as it usually does.

 

“Hungry?” he asks.

 

It takes a long, solid moment for her to smile back, but she forces it and nods.

 

.

 

“Hey, dude.”

 

Connor is poring over a case file when Asher appears behind him and grabs him by the shoulders in a futile attempt at a bro-massage.  He flinches hard, and wrenches himself from Asher’s grip.

 

“Asher, what the - ?”

 

Asher clears his throat.  “Sorry, I uh - “  He coughs and settles in the seat next to him.  “I, uh - just wanted to see how you were doing, man.”

 

Connor raises a single eyebrow.  “I’m fine.”  

 

Asher nods.  “Right, I just - well, I’ve been doing some thinking lately, and life’s kind of shitting on all of us, and I just - I realized I never thanked you for taking me in after my dad ki- after my dad died.”

 

Connor stares at for a moment before shifting his weight.  “It wasn’t a problem, Asher.  You - you needed a friend.”

 

“Right,” Asher says, nodding again.  “And honestly, man, I think you need a friend right now.”

 

Connor blinks, then squints his eyes.  He considers the option that he just heard Asher wrong.  “Wait - ?”

 

Asher scoots in, lowers his head slightly.  “Look, if - if you and Oliver hadn’t been there for me - I don’t know.  I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about following after my dad.  I was pretty fucking miserable.”  

 

Connor keeps his eyes steady on the table in front him, doesn’t dare to look up at Asher.  He doesn’t normally do feelings.  Yeah, sure, he was worried about Asher for a while after his dad committed suicide.  And yeah, even though the living situation was pretty inconvenient, he wasn’t going to shove anyone out on the street after what happened.  But shit - they never really talked about how Asher felt.  Connor just helped distract him.  God, he had know idea - 

 

“Connor.”

 

He raises his head, careful.

 

“Asher, I’m so sorry - “

 

“No, no, no, no, no,” Asher starts.  “This isn’t about me.  I promise I’m good.  I’m just worried about you.”

 

Connor swallows.  “Wh - why?  I’m totally fine, Asher.”  He flips the next page of the file he’s supposed to be reading.  

 

“Walshy.”

 

Connor tries really hard not to roll his eyes.  “Millstone,” he says pointedly.

 

Asher sighs.  “Look, all I’m saying is - I would prefer if nothing else happened to someone I care about.”

 

Connor looks back down at the paper with wide eyes.  “Asher,” he says slowly.   “I’m fine.  And I’m gonna need you to back off because this intimacy is making my balls retract into themselves.”

 

Asher smiles.  “Glad to hear it.”  He hops up and prances away to Michaela.  

 

Connor feels bile in his throat.  He coughs into his sleeve and hauls himself upward.  A break to bathroom sounds pretty necessary.  This work room feels like it’s swallowing him whole. He whips the door to the hallway open and nearly crashes into two bodies with their hands all over each other.  

 

“Oh, Jesus,” he mutters.  One good look at the two of them turns his sneer into a dropped jaw and wet eyes.  

 

“Connor - I - “  Oliver pulls his arms from around Simon’s shoulders but the damage is done.

 

“Sorry,” Connor huffs, ducking his head and turning on his heel.  He stumbles as he hurries down the hall and to the bathroom.  He crashes into a stall and falls to the ground, the sobs taking over.

 

.

 

The clock on the stove is completely blurred.  Alcohol sloshes in Connor’s stomach and it occurs to him that it doesn’t really matter what time it is.  It’s late.  He knows that much.  Michaela and her mom left a while ago, and he’s been left alone to drown himself in whiskey.  He’s doing a pretty good job so far.

 

God, he’s tired.

 

Bottle in hand, Connor trudges out to the living room.  He sinks into the couch, and his phone digs into his side.  With a grunt, he yanks it out of his pocket and clicks the home button.  Oliver’s name flashes over and over and over again, but Connor just tosses it aside.  Oliver’s been trying to talk to him since Connor caught him swapping spit with Simon, but Connor doesn’t want to hear it.

 

He keeps warring with himself.  He’s angry, hurt, feels abandoned by the only person who ever mattered to him.  And yet, Oliver has always deserved better than what Connor’s had to offer.  Although, Simon’s also kind of a huge dick so maybe Oliver should reexamine his taste in men.

 

Connor throws back another swallow of whiskey.

 

Then again, at least Simon didn’t push Oliver into contracting HIV.  At least Simon didn’t sleep with someone for evidence, use that evidence against them, thereby leading them to commit suicide.  At least Simon isn’t an accessory to two separate murders and other horrible crimes.

Connor throws back a rather large drink.

 

Maybe Pax had a point.  Maybe Judge Millstone had a point.  Maybe Asher was right in worrying about him.  

 

Connor’s fucking tired.

 

And he’s in pain.  He’s in so much pain that he could die from the pressure of it all.  He can’t remember the last time he was happy.  He can’t remember what it felt like.  All he can feel is the swell of his chest and the way his breath wishes to stop coming.  His heart thumps in broken beats and every time he lies down his body aches to sink into the ground.

 

Nobody wants him, and nobody needs him.  There’s no reason he should stick around.

 

Connor glances around, looking for anything on the ceiling or up high he can hang himself with.  Michaela’s ceiling is finished, and the pipes probably wouldn’t hold him if they were exposed.  He takes another drink.  His eyes fix on the window.  Michaela lives on the third floor, so he’d probably break an arm at most.  He takes another drink.  His gaze migrates to the kitchen.  But once he actually thinks about driving a blade through his wrists, he feels faint.  He takes another drink.  He catches sight of his Prozac and smiles.  He hasn’t been taking it, and it’s quite full.

 

One last thought goes to considering his options and whether he really wants to die, but he pushes it away in favor of grabbing the bottle.  He taps several pills into his hand, and with an incredible amount of relief, tosses them into his mouth.  He takes another drink and repeats the process.

 

When all the pills are gone, he leans back and takes a deep, satisfied breath.  He closes his eyes, and lets his other senses take over.  All he can really smell and/or taste is alcohol, but he can hear the city outside.  Philadelphia is alive with traffic, people walking the streets, and music playing in the distance.  

 

He’s at peace.  

  
He doesn’t know how long it’s going to take for the pills to settle and digest, but he might as well go out feeling alive for probably the first and last time in his life.  He staggers off the couch and out the door, leaving his phone to chime muffled in the couch cushions.


End file.
